Would You?
by Simon920
Summary: Dick agrees to help a fellow Hudson with an assignment.


Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

**Would you…?**

It was a perfect fall day a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, warm, sunny and with the sky so blue it almost hurt. Dick Grayson was sitting on the grass of the quad, leaning against a tree and trying to get through the reading he hadn't finished last night.

He was wearing a pair of old jeans, a black tee shirt and an old pair of sneakers. Comfortable. Casual and he knew that if Alfred saw him, he'd be brought to task and asked, in no uncertain terms, what on earth he was thinking, going out in public dressed like that. If Alf had his way, he'd go to class in a shirt and tie like he'd been forced to do back in high school. Not here, not now, no way.

He still had twenty minutes till class. He might get through the last two chapters if he read really fast. He might even retain something.

"Um…Excuse me?"

He looked up, slightly surprised. "Yes?" She was semi-pretty (bordering closely on plain as a mud fence), whoever she was, but he had no idea who she was. If she was in one of his classes, he'd never noticed her.

"Um, hi. I've been watching you and, um…I, um…" She trailed off, stammering.

"Did you want something?" He said it kindly.

"Um, yeah. I mean yes. I was wondering if you'd…maybe…I mean..." The rest came out in a rush. "I'm in Photography 201 and I have this assignment to do life study—you know, body study, figure studies and I was wondering of you'd mind if I'd, I mean, I was hoping that maybe you'd let me photograph you." She took a needed breath. "My name is Lisa." She dug in the pocket of her own jeans. "Here."

He took the crunched piece of paper. It was a note of explanation from her professor, saying that there was indeed, an assignment for his students to find someone to agree to pose for life study photos. There was no requirement that anyone agree; though if they did, they would be expected to fulfill their agreement and not leave the student in the lurch. There would be no recompense and the subjects would be required to sign releases. Nudity was not required. The assignment was due in four days.

Lisa could have made this all up and printed it off on her computer, but he tended to think it was real. And it wasn't like he'd never sat through a photo shoot before.

"When would you want to do this?"

"Um, soon? I have to have time to play around with the pictures and stuff. Um…maybe later today if you're not too busy?"

"I have two classes and a lab this afternoon, I won't be done much before four. Is that too late?"

She looked disappointed. "Um, the light will be going by then…"

Lisa seemed to have trouble finishing sentences. "There must be a studio or some place we could use. Do you have any ideas about what kind of pictures you'd like to take?"

"Um, I guess…do you do any sports or anything?"

Sure, why not? "Gymnastics. I'm not on the school team, but I can throw some tricks if you'd like to try something in the gym." He closed his book. "You'd probably have to get permission from the coach or someone, though."

"Um, you mean you'll do it?" She was slightly stunned she'd made a score, but who knew how many people she'd asked. "Um, I mean, just like that? All I had to do was ask?"

"Sure, as long as it doesn't take all night."

She managed a slightly crooked smile. "Um, oh, um, wow, um…that's great. I mean, thank you."

"No problem. Call me when you have a time for the gym and I'll meet you there, okay?" She nodded. "Dick."

"Huh?" She was blushing the color of a beet.

"My name; Dick Grayson. Here's my cell number. So you can call me." He glanced at his watch, time to go. "I have a class but I'll see you later, okay?" She nodded and watched him go. Golly, she'd just asked him on kind of a whim because he looked like he had a pretty good body but—he was gorgeous and he was even nice!

Around four fifteen, Dick's cell rang, playing 'Barbara Ann' by the Beach Boys—Roy's idea of a joke. Jerk. "Yes?…Seven-thirty? That'd be fine. I'll see you then. Is there anything you want me to wear or bring?…Okay. No problem. See you then."

A seven-thirty on the dot he walked into the gym, headed for workout room number three, the one used by the gymnastics team and equipped with the bars, mats, vaulting tables and the rest. Lisa was there setting up with the Hudson U gymnastics team starting their evening workout and wondering what as going on. Dick changed into a sleeveless singlet under gym shorts and waited for her direction.

"Um, okay. Maybe we could start with…um…can you maybe do a handstand on the double bars there?"

"The parallels? Sure." He did one; Lisa below him taking pictures looking up and then close-ups of his arms, muscles showing to advantage.

"Um, maybe, um, can you do one of those T-things on those hanging rings?"

"An iron cross? Sure." More pictures, this time concentrating on his arms and shoulders and the tendons in his neck. She also seemed to like the way his hands and fingers gripped the leather rings, covered in chalk and wearing grips.

"Do you want any moving pictures?"

"Um, like what?"

"Like maybe throwing some tricks—flips, vaults, dismounts. Like that; you know, _moving_. If you set up a time exposure you might get a nice effect"

"Um, sure. I guess."

If she said 'um' once more he'd have trouble keeping a straight face. "Okay, how about I try a couple of tumbling passes on the floor. If you stand at this corner I'll come straight at you and if you stand over there you can get some side shots."

"Um, okay." She stood at the far corner, a few feet back from the guidelines. He warmed up with a few simple tricks and then let loose, flying across the mats with a series of impossibly high and fast twisting roundoffs, flipflops, and ending with a double twisting, double layout to a perfect stick. The gymnastics team members pretended that they weren't watching but he was doing stuff they couldn't—not that any of them would admit it. Whoever this guy was, he could be a ringer the Coach had brought in to keep them humble.

"Um, could you maybe do that again so I can get some shots from the side?"

"No problem."

Next they moved over to the high bar. "Um, would you really mind if you took off your shirt? This is, um, supposed to be, you know, um, like a figure study."

"Sure." Dick went into the locker room, emerging minus the singlet but still wearing the shorts. Pure beefcake, not the Dick minded. He was used to being stared at since he was three years old.

They moved over to the pommel horse, Dick throwing Thomas Flairs while Lisa clicked away. By now the gymnastics team looked like a few of them were getting annoyed at being shown up by some stranger kid who'd walked in, photographer in tow and made them all look like a bunch of ten year olds starting a beginner's class. Dick could hear some indistinct muttering; he couldn't make out the words, but the tone was pretty obvious. Well, cripes, was it his fault he was a better gymnast? Practice, guys.

"Um, maybe you could try the—what's that called? Um, when you—you know—run at that big thing over there and jump over it?"

"The vaulting table. Sure."

"Um, yeah, I guess."

Dick lined himself up for a flip onto the table leading into and setting him up for a double double Tsuk layout. Two twists and two complete layout flips. One of the hardest vaults done, it was Olympic caliber. He stuck it. Walked back up the runway and did it again and again while Lisa took endless pictures.

"Um, yeah, that's pretty, um, cool."

By now the coach wanted to talk to this kid, whoever he was.

"Um, okay, I guess, um, is that it? I mean, um, that's all the stuff you do in here, I guess?"

"That's all the equipment, I could throw some different tricks if you want, unless you think you've got what you need for your assignment."

"Oh! Um…" Now she was embarrassed, having kept him too long. "I, um, I guess…"

"Okay, good. Let me know if you need anything else, okay? I'm gonna go but call me if you think of anything else, all right?" Dick headed to the locker room to get his clothes on, changed and was headed for the door when the head coach touched his arm.

"Son, you mind telling me your name and where you learned those moves?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Dick Grayson, freshman. I didn't mean to interrupt your workout. 'Won't happen again. I was just helping her out with some assignment she had."

"No problem. I was wondering; have you thought about trying out for the team? From what I saw just now, you'd have a pretty good shot at it."

Just what he needed. "Thanks, but I don't really have time." And what the coach was really saying was 'please join then team, because you just blew away everyone else in the gym'.

"You know, here are scholarships available for athletics around here and if you'd be interested, I'd be happy to put in a good word for you." He took Dick aside, away from the curious stares and listening ears of the other kids there.

"Look, I assume you know as well as I do that you're the best gymnast I've seen in a long time. I'd really like to have you on the team—what would it take to get you to agree?"

Dick hesitated. He didn't have time for this, not tonight and not this semester. He was barely keeping his head above water with everything he ad going on—between his schoolwork and Robin, he was swamped. "I appreciate the compliment, but I _really_ don't have time. I'm barely passing a couple of classes as it is."

"Son, I can arrange for help with your classes, easy as pie. Look, would you do me a favor and have a cup of coffee with me? I'd like to talk about this a little more."

"Mr…?"

"Coach Seifert."

"Mr. Seifert, I don't want to be rude or anything, but this isn't gonna happen. I'm sorry, but I'm way the hell overscheduled as it is. There's no way I can add varsity sports to my to-do list. It's a non-starter, honest. And I have a test tomorrow I haven't started studying for, so if you'll excuse me…"

The coach nodded. He knew when a no meant no and this was one of those times. It killed him, though; this kid was as good as he'd ever seen, he had the chops to take the team all the way but if he wouldn't play, well then he wouldn't play. Dammit. 'Kid walks in off the street, teases him and them walks out. Crap. "Son, Dick—where did you learn those moves? I keep a pretty close eye on the upcoming high school kids and I'd remember you of I'd seen you. You ever compete?"

"No, never competed. I just kind of…" Oh the hell with playing games with this guy. "I was started in acrobatics before I could work—my parents had a trapeze act I joined when I was three and a half. I was a flyer in a circus when I was a kid till I was almost nine; it was kind of the family business. I just kind of kept it up because I like it. Kind of on my own."

"What did you say your name was again?"

"Grayson."

The coach slowly regarded him. "I remember them, I was in high school and saw your show back in Kansas_. You_ were that kid?" Dick nodded. "What happened to them, you went off to college and your parents…" He stopped, suddenly remembering the headlines and the footage on the news ten years ago. "Shit—I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

"It's okay. It was a long time ago." He was used to deflecting other people's embarrassment about this.

"Well, look; you're still the best gymnast to set foot in that place since I've been here. You change your mind, or if you just want to work out, you just show up, okay? In fact, I'd be happy to sign you on as an assistant coach, get you some money, if you'll consider giving the boys some pointers."

"Yeah, thanks—I appreciate it, but I don't think so. I really have to concentrate on my classes and all of that. It was, you know, it was kind of a past life if you know what I mean." Dick had enough of this; he was ready to leave. As it was he'd have all he could do to get through the chapters the Econ test was on tomorrow.

"Sure, okay, but the door's open if you ever change your mind."

A week later Dick got a packet of photos in his mailbox. They were the ones Lisa had taken; all close ups and interesting time exposures of the tumbling passes and snippets of routines and combos that he'd thrown for her. They were a lot better than he'd thought they'd be and he was glad to see that she really had concentrated on his muscles and bod—there were no shots of his face at all. The note she'd included thanked him for helping her out and telling him the professor had been complimentary and she'd gotten an A. She didn't suggest getting together again and he was just as glad she hadn't gone there.

The same day he also received a note from Coach Seifert, along with a printout of some old reviews and publicity shots from Haley's and The Flying Grayson's act. They were ones he hadn't seen and he got a nostalgic kick out of seeing them.

The two sets of photos were an interesting contrast—him as a seven-year-old turning a quad and him now throwing more standard advanced tricks. It was easy enough to see the progression, at least in his athletics. His form was better, as was to be expected. He'd improved and he idly wondered what he'd be capable of now if he'd continued as a flyer.

He walked through the campus. If his parents were still alive the odds were he wouldn't be here unless they were stopping in New Carthage for a gig. He'd likely still be traveling with some show, playing eight shows a week and on the road.

He'd never considered any other life back then, never wanted any other life.

And sometimes, when he was reminded of what he used to do, he wished he were still back there in his old life, but there were bigger things for him and he knew that now—he'd known it since he'd become Robin.

* * *

"Master Bruce, have you seen this yet?"

"What's that, Alfred?"

Alfred held out the copy of the Hudson Herald, the school's daily paper. There on page four were a full page of reprints of the winners of the school's photography contest. The second place pictures were a series featuring a gymnast, a figure study of the angles and planes of the young man's sweat, muscles and tendons. The lines and planes of the unknown body stood out in clear definition, turning the flesh into a series of abstract angles, shapes and shadows.

"Did he mention this to you?"

Bruce shook his head, slightly surprised at the mature look of the figure. There was nothing boyish to be seen here, nothing that would suggest that the anonymous figure was anything but an adult in every sense of the word. He was proud of the way Dick had developed, the result of discipline and hard work, dedication and talent.

He knew it had to happen, but was startled by the maturity of his son's body. After a moment a second thought struck him; it wasn't just Dick's body which had grown, changed.

His son was an adult now.

And he knew, in a comment of clarity, that was something almost no parent was really ready for.

5/3/08

7


End file.
